


Ashes

by theleafpile



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Alternative Scene, BAMF Chloe Decker, F/M, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Oops, Protective Chloe Decker, Reveal Fic, Scars, Sharing a Bed, Smut, chloe helps him recover, he doesn't take it well, lucifer burned his wings, thats it thats the whole fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-15
Updated: 2017-06-15
Packaged: 2018-11-14 08:52:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11204601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theleafpile/pseuds/theleafpile
Summary: Lucifer burned his wings, severing his connection to Hell.And Heaven.He vastly underestimated how much it would affect him.





	1. Aftermath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After some feedback it's come to my attention that the first chapter seems to have the most positive response. Feel free to read it as a stand alone/ one shot look into Lucifers' post-burning mindset, or continue reading if you are, like me, a slut for forgiveness.  
> Enjoy!

Chloe’s phone buzzed beneath her pillow, vibrating her awake. She groaned and pulled it out, squinting in the sudden bright light. 

MAZE was calling. Lucifer must have programmed her number into the phone.

She rolled onto her side, checking the time, glowing green in the dark. 3:02am. The phone vibrated angrily in her palm. There was no reason for Lucifer’s bartender to be calling him, especially this late – unless something had happened to their only mutual friend.

Chloe shoved the comforter down and sat up, swiping the touch screen to answer. A loud, impatient huff of air greeted her through the speaker, along with thudding bass and the sound of laughter in the background.

“Maze? Why are you calling me? Some of us like to sleep at this hour.”

“Decker, you need to get over here,” the demon commanded, her voice low and even. “Now.”

Chloe rubbed an eye with her free hand. “Lucifer in the middle of someone is not an emergency. And if you have a real emergency, you should call 9-1-1, not your resident homicide detective.”

She could hear only music and the faint notes of angry, then anxious, breathing. “I don’t need the police,” Maze spat, “I need Lucifer’s…” 

Chloe could almost hear the other woman rolling her eyes. 

“…Friend.”

Chloe shut her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose, and then shoved off the covers, throwing on a pair of sweatpants off the floor. Lucifer hadn’t been doing well since his container had been stolen, and though they recovered the property, something had been… off. When he told her about the wings, she laughed at his seriousness, but helped him recover them regardless. Though he hadn’t been pleased.

“What’s going on? Sounds like he’s got three dozen of his closest ‘friends’ there already.”

“Listen, you think I want to call you? I’m not one to ask for… help.”

Chloe turned on her bathroom light and adjusted to the brightness, squinting at herself in the mirror until she was able to relax her eyes. “So?”

“He took,” the demon grunted, forcing the words from her stomach. “More ‘merchandise’ than I’ve ever seen with him. And he intended to use it. All of it. It’s not good.”

“He’s got drugs with him?” Chloe asked, conflicted – she was an officer, but also his friend. The two roles called for very different concerns.

Maze grunted in response. “Could you just…” she asked, voice trailing. Chloe could feel, in the thinness of her voice, deep concern for her close friend. “He listens to you. I’m… afraid. And don’t you dare breathe a word of that to him.”

Chloe leaned over the bathroom sink, one hand resting on the cool porcelain. “I’m not going to leave my daughter alone in the middle of the night. Just – get him through tonight, and I’ll come by as early as I can tomorrow. Dan’s picking Trixie up at 9 and I have the day off.” 

“Fine.”

“Okay. Thanks for letting me know, Maze.”

The dial tone said goodbye for her. Chloe sighed, pulling the hair away from her face. If Lucifer was using, she would – what? Have to report it, and lose her partner? Or not get him help, and maybe lose him anyway.

After using the bathroom and checking on Trixie, Chloe crawled back into bed, exhausted and wired with thoughts of Lucifer, in enough pain that Maze – ninja bartender with sociopathic tendencies – was actually concerned. Concerned enough to call her. 

There had to be something else going on. Something besides having costume wings stolen. 

She tugged the comforter higher on her chin and willed herself to go to sleep, images of Lucifer dancing across the backs of her eyelids.

\---

By sunrise Lucifer was lying on the floor, his back against the black tile by the piano. The flat was empty, blissfully quiet, the evidence of last night’s party scattered around him – the couch and chairs had been pushed to the walls, empty glasses and plates with white, dusty remains strewn about, wet footprints leading out from the hot tub, slowly evaporating on his floors. Black sheets were pulled off the bed and draped over the Italian marble steps, a few feet from where he lay.

Sometime in the night – after the guests left – he had dressed himself, albeit haphazardly. The gray-blue shirt was buttoned most of the way, untucked in unbuttoned dark trousers, cuffs undone and sleeves hanging loosely. The top off he had upon waking had perhaps been too much, which was a rare beast to run into, but it did happen occasionally. 

He held his arms up above his head, stretching along the cool tiles, his hips digging downward, arching his back off the floor. He relaxed and dragged a hand down, watching the back of his knuckles as they slid across the floor. He trailed them down his face, over his nose and lips, lingering, before continuing down his chest and stomach, and over the metal button of his pants.

He laughed, bubbly and joyous, swaying his hips against the floor like a dance partner. He was hard. It was delicious. He shut his eyes, adjusting himself, smiling. It had definitely been too much.

What a wonderful thing, excess.

He did not know for how long he lay, drifting between snippets of songs in his head, content just to feel the shirt against his chest, his hands in his hair, the way the scars pressed painfully against the hard floor. The pain was divine, immaculate, necessary. 

His hands tugged at his hair, thoughts on the scars. He couldn’t will away the pain showing on his face, like the emotion was stuck there. 

Lucifer tugged his head upwards then dropped it, slamming it back against the floor once, twice. He shot upright, pulling his knees in, holding his head in hands at the sudden movement, groaning as the Earth’s centrifugal force centered directly in the middle of his body.

He lunged forward to the coffee table, crawling to it before letting his legs sprawl backwards as he inhaled what was left, only an arm holding him up against the table before the muscles finally gave, and he fell face first onto the floor. 

The spinning continued. He shut his eyes tightly and tucked his knees to lie more on his left side, facing where the couch should have been. The scars creased against the muscles and he squeezed his eyes tighter against a sudden hot burst of wind from the open patio doors. 

“Bloody things,” he muttered, slamming a hand on the floor and pushing himself upright. His head collided with the table he was lying beneath, and he pulled himself out from under it and roared, lifting himself to his knees and throwing it across the room. It hit the far wall with a loud thud and hit the ground in pieces.

The movement caused Lucifer to fall forward onto his hands, and the breeze hit again. An unbidden memory flashed, of a time when he fell to his hands and knees on the beach, and felt the hot blood pouring down his back.

The floor reverberated as he slammed down a fist. He stood, stumbled over to the bar, and grabbed the nearest open bottle. 

To forget. That’s all he wanted. A little reprieve. The wings had been taken, yes, but then they were found, and the responsible party punished, and then he – 

He – 

Burned them to ash.

The elevator door pinged open as he took a long swig, not bothering to turn around. The liquid burned his throat. He knew exactly who stood behind him.

He laughed mirthlessly and threw the bottle across the room. It shattered against the fireplace wall, and he heard a gasp escape from Chloe’s lips. His laugh was rueful, his smile cold when he turned to her, the kind of smile he saved for suspects.

The kind with dead eyes.

He rummaged for another bottle and took another swig, though less vehement this time. Chloe stepped further into the room, surveying the damage, her palms held in front of her.

“Maze called,” she explained, and Lucifer barked out a laugh, stumbling back against the counter. “She said something was wrong.”

“What could possibly be wrong, detective?” he asked, setting the bottle down with such force the amber liquid inside sprayed out the top. “I’ve finally got everything I ever wanted. Couldn’t be better!”

She took a step closer to him, her eyes searching his face. He was a poster boy for disheveled, trademark 5 o’clock shadow unkempt, hair curling at his forehead, obvious remnants of substances around his nose. “Yeah? Everything’s fine?” she asked, her voice rising in anger. She flung a hand out, gesturing to the apartment. “Big party?”

He rolled his eyes. “If you’re here to chastise me, I’d rather not be here for it,” he said, making to brush past her. She held her hands out to his chest, stopping him. He looked at the hands, then back into her face, eyes dark. 

“You are my partner,” she held up a finger, emphasizing. “If there’s something going on with you, I need to know.” He pushed against her. She stepped back but otherwise didn’t move out of his way. He glared down his nose at her, chest heaving. “My life is in your hands. I can’t have you doing whatever the fuck this is and getting wrecked and expecting me to trust you afterwards.”

He towered over her, leaning down dangerously close. “Move,” he growled. 

She kept her mouth a hard line and pushed her hands against his chest. The pressure against his skin was intoxicating. He tilted forward, willing her to touch more of him.

“Stop,” she commanded, and he found himself wavering in place. She lifted one hand to grab his chin, looking deep into his eyes. His pupils were blown wide, making his already dark features malevolent in the ochre light. 

She was going to kiss him. He knew it. His body was already preparing for what was to come.

“You listen to me.” The grip on her chin became tighter, stopping him from leaning forward. “Whatever is happening to you. This is not the answer. There is no question where getting dangerously intoxicated is the answer.”

He huffed, straightening to pull away. She held his face fast. He tilted his head, confused.

Chloe didn’t want to be doing this, but she needed him to listen. She could feel anger running hotly through her veins. Lucifer had never been reliable, but he had never been this much of a danger to himself. It made her burn to think of him hurting himself, no matter how much he enjoyed it.

“This is pathetic and you know it.”

Lucifer held her gaze. She watched the emotions flicker on his face. From defiance to pain, from pain to confusion, from confusion to rage. 

His eyes burned with the intensity of hellfire and she released her hand, shocked. Lucifer used his body to walk her backward, his hands fists at his sides. “Pathetic?” he scolded, his voice booming in her ears. She couldn’t rip her gaze from the red, furious eyes. “You know nothing about me, or what I’ve done.”

She turned, smacking into the elevator doors.

“Burned, detective! I set the last sodding thing I had of His on fire! I ought to be celebrating!” 

The red eyes abated, leaving on darkness beneath. He swayed and she resisted reaching out to steady him, keeping her hands at her sides. 

He cast his gaze downward, reaching out to lay a palm flat against the cool metal behind her. “So why does it feel like this?” he asked through gritted teeth. “So bloody…” he exhaled through his nose. “Sick about it.”

“Lucifer.” Chloe touched his shoulder, encouraging him to look at her. “What did you burn?”

He blinked slowly. “My wings.” His arm gave out and he slumped to the floor, pulling her down with him. She managed to slide gracefully, but he collapsed against her, legs crumbled. When the shock abated, she adjusted her head to get his hair away from her mouth, his head resting against her shoulder, face turned away from her. 

“Chloe,” he breathed. He was heavier than she expected. She carefully wrapped her arms around his shoulders, resting her hands lightly on his back. “I burned my wings.” 

She stroked his back lightly, her right hand unknowingly caressing the scar on that side. He closed his eyes, pushing himself closer to her, starved for her touch. 

Chloe let her head fall back as she held him. “They’re gone,” he mumbled against his shoulder. She could feel him relaxing, coming down. Her heart beat wildly. She willed it to slow. His eyes…

I will never lie to you. 

She left one hand on his back and brought the other to his hair, brushing it away from his face. 

“You can’t do this,” she whispered. “I won’t lose my partner over drugs. My friend.”

He nodded sleepily against her shoulder. 

“Make it stop,” he murmured, lifting his head, running his nose against her shoulder, into her neck, breathing her in. Her breathing hitched, her grip on his hair tightening. He inhaled sharply, pulling a heavy hand across her body, pulling her closer. 

“No.”

He stopped immediately, hesitating. 

“You need to shower. Then I’m putting you to bed.”

She could feel him smiling against her cheek. “Join me?” he asked, shifting back to look into her face. She ran her hands up over his shoulders to his jaw, cupping his face. His eyes darted to her lips, the perfect cupid’s bow, the flushing pink and if he could just lean in, a little, closer…

She held him in place, her eyes full of concern. “Lucifer.”

His eyes were fixed on her lips, wanting nothing more than to feel them against his own. 

She said his name again, but it sounded like it was in the other room, muffled. His peripheral vision darkened. All he could focus on was her mouth. It was moving. But not kissing?

He shifted his weight backward and watched the ceiling slide into darkness.


	2. Memory

Lucifer tried willing away consciousness with a groan, tugging the already constricting sheets around him tighter, shoving his face deeper into the pillow. His body was cold with from a light sheen of sweat and he shivered, gripping the sheet harder between his fingers. He felt the sheet around him and discovered he was wearing pajama bottoms. Feeling like shit didn’t cover it, and anything else he thought of turned his stomach. 

This wasn’t right. Usually recovering from a bender took a few minutes, not a few hours, the supernatural metabolism typically preventing him from having one in the first place.

Usually he cursed it, but this morning it might have been nice.

It was morning. Again. 

He groaned again. 

Fingers brushed the hair off his forehead, then fell away. 

“I need a drink,” he croaked, pushing the sheet down to his waist. It took substantially more effort than he’d like to admit.

Chloe sat on the edge of the bed. “Absolutely not.”

Lucifer eased himself upright, leaning back on his hands, dragging one to run down the scruff on his face and through his hair, cringing. He had expected Maze, not the detective. 

Chloe spoke to interrupt the rebuttal forming on his lips. “You can have water.”

She held a glass to his chest and he took it, but she didn’t let go, helping him bring it to his lips. He drank it all down greedily. Chloe held the empty glass in her lap. 

The satisfaction brought by the cool liquid was short lived. Lucifer bolted out the bed, hopping to get out of the sheet trailing behind him. Chloe dropped her face into her hands at the sudden sound of retching echoing off the stone walls from the bathroom. 

Eventually the retching turned into gagging and stopped. Chloe pushed herself upright, padding barefoot to the bar to refill the glass. She and Maze had spent most of yesterday putting Lucifer and his place back together. Maze took care of getting Lucifer in the shower, though she could hear her cursing in a tongue she didn’t recognize with one or two – or six – rough slams against the tile.

Chloe tried to not count the amount of empty bottles, glasses, and plainly avoided categorizing the paraphernalia strewn about as she cleaned. She also definitely tried not to think about the frightening eyes, focusing instead on the task at hand. Triage for her brain. Worst first.

She smiled, then. Learning her partner hadn’t been lying to her about being the Prince of Darkness ranked pretty low on the crisis meter, surprisingly. And that night, when she went home to an empty house, she fell into an exhausted, dreamless sleep. She returned that morning, much to Maze’s relief. 

Chloe returned with a full glass and leaned on the edge of the wall at the top of the stairs, giving Lucifer privacy. The bathroom door was half shut. She waited until she heard the toilet flushing and water running and stopping before easing it open, setting the glass by the sink.

Lucifer leaned over the sink, elbows locked, shifting his weight back and forth, screwing his eyes shut when she turned on the light. 

He tried to remember the night, and could only remember the last bit. He attacked Chloe. That couldn’t be right. He should remember more from earlier in the evening, not this hallucination he cocked up, his greatest fear. 

He could never attack her. He would never show her, in a rage, his true self.

Dr. Linda’s voice rang in his ears. You’re lying to yourself. 

“Maze and I cleaned up. Which was not something I had on my list of things to do for my day off.” Her voice, though upset, washed over him like a balm. “You’re lucky the lieutenant let me take a personal day.”

He hummed an answer, avoiding opening his eyes.

“I had Maze dispose of anything she could find.” He smirked at that, sure the demon would find creative ways to get rid of the product. “And all the alcohol.” 

His eyes flew open, staring at her in the mirror. 

“She’s not going to throw it away. I just wanted it out of your apartment.” 

He relaxed at that. His collection took quite a bit of money and time to procure, and he couldn’t have her pouring it down the sink in some attempt to heal what would always be broken.

“Are you going to tell me what’s going on?” She asked, and he answered by turning back on the water and splashing his face a few times. He shut the water off, letting his face drip, elbows on the sink.

“I know,” she said, quietly.

He meant to wipe away the water, but instead held his face in his hands. So it had happened. He had shown her his true self, not all of it – otherwise she would never still be here – but. Wait. Why was she still here?

She rested a hand on his shoulder. The muscles were taunt. She willed them to relax, tightening her hold slightly.

Lucifer spoke, his voice flat and unreadable. “You should go.”

Her hand drifted to his elbow. “I’m not leaving.”

He turned, towering over her in the doorway, and saw a determined look on her face. He knew that look. 

“I can recover with you gone.”

She tilted her chin upward, defiant. “Sucks for you.”

He took a step forward but she did not move from the door. “At least let me out.”

She stepped aside and he brushed past, instinctively turning toward the bar. He hovered at the top of the steps, surveying the damage. The piano was untouched, thankfully, and the furniture was more of less back in its place, the floors and tables clean – and the bar empty, like she promised.

He stormed down, angrier than he thought he’d be, going around the bar – avoiding looking at the elevator – and poking his head in the fridge. Chloe stayed at the top, turning to sit back on the edge of the bed. She could hear him moving glasses, tugging at drawers, opening the freezer, slamming it shut. 

He came back around, stopping in the middle of the room to look at her, a pack of cigarettes in his hand. He wanted to make a quip about her being in his bed, ask her if smoking was off-limits too, what it was he did exactly to deserve this – 

To deserve her.

She had tucked her feet beneath her, leaning on one arm, her hair falling over a shoulder. She was lost in thought, looking somewhere on the floor ahead of her.

She knew. She knew and she was still here. He had crushed the pack without realizing. He tossed it back onto the counter, walking toward her slowly.

The movement got her attention, and she focused on him. He stopped at the stairs. 

“Are you alright?” he asked. 

“You said you burned your wings.” He swallowed. “So it’s all… real? The scars on your back are from wings?” 

He nodded.

She chewed on her lip, eyes drifting. “Okay.”

He set one foot on the step. “Okay?” he repeated.

She shrugged. “I’m not some delicate flower, Lucifer. I can take the truth.”

He moved to the top of the steps, still giving her distance. “Most people can’t. Drives them insane.”

She tilted her head back and forth, considering. “I know you. Makes a difference.”

“I don’t –” he started, but she interrupted.

“If you don’t think I know who you really are, you’re wrong.”

His gaze fell from her to the floor, and she shifted her legs out from under her, patting the space beside her on the bed.

“Talk to me.”

He wavered in place, wanting nothing more than to sit with her, but some part inside resisted, telling him that she will leave if he does, and not come back. Whatever it was had become used to the darkness, and didn’t want to be brought up to the light, scrutinized and exposed.

“I’m not leaving until you tell me what happened.”

He huffed out a laugh. “And after that?”

Chloe nodded, understanding. “I’m not going anywhere, Lucifer. Dan jumped at the chance to have Trixie for another day. She won’t be back until tomorrow morning. And Maze was more than happy to get out of here after the trouble you gave her last night. So,” she smiled, “you’re stuck with me.”

Reluctantly, his feet took him to the bed, and he sat down heavily, swallowing at sudden vertigo. “I found them after the auction. The real ones.”

Chloe set a hand on his knee. 

His lips raised in a snarl. “The auctioneer got what he deserved.”

The emotion fell away. “I dragged them to the car, brought them to the beach where I had Maze remove them in the first place. They were heavier than I remembered.”

A glance at her. She was listening. 

“My brother wanted me to reassume my form, I knew. He orchestrated their disappearance to manipulate me into returning to Hell.” 

Her hand flinched at the last word.

“So I burned them instead.”

He leaned forward, her hand moving for him to set his elbows on his knees. She wanted to touch him, to provide comfort, but didn’t know where to place her hand. From the angle he was now in she could plainly see the scaring on his back. 

The muscles tensed. “This is ridiculous,” he said, shoving his hands beside him and beginning to push himself back upright, but her hand on his shoulder stopped him. “I had already cut them off. They were already gone. I didn’t want them anymore, or the Hellish throne they accompanied.”

He shot a look at her. She kept her hand steady, holding his shoulder instead of pulling away like every fiber of her being was willing her to do.

“They meant nothing to me,” he finished.

“Obviously they did,” she countered, taking in a deep breath. “Last night –”

His steady gaze faltered.

“You said they were the last things of His you had. Your Father’s?”

He nodded. His stomach was empty, but the feeling radiated throughout the rest of his body. Empty. Disconnected. Cut off. 

From Him. 

He should be used to the feeling by now.

“I can’t understand what they meant to you.”

He turned away, and her hand slid down his back, over the closest scar. She shot her hand back when he sharply exhaled, an apology falling from her lips. 

“No,” he said softly. “Please.”

Gently, she replaced her hand on the back of his shoulder, above the scar. He could feel his neck and face reddening, a dangerous mix of anger, rage, and embarrassment. He was never one to be self-conscious, but her gaze on his back was almost too much to bear. 

Was this shame?

Guilt?

Chloe trailed her fingers down the edge of a scar and he exhaled again, slowly, leaning toward her. 

Time did not exist in this moment, as though Amenadiel had stopped it all around them. Boldly, cautiously, she reached her other hand to hold the far side of his face, pulling it gently toward her, as the other hand hovered over the marbled tissue.

He allowed himself to be moved. She shifted to face him, and he closed his eyes, tucking his face into her neck.

He wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that, her hands exploring the crests and ridges on his back, pressing into the tissue and the undamaged space between them. The drugs couldn’t do this. They made him forget. 

This made him remember.

Every agonizing second of the blade against his skin, cutting through the living muscle and sinew and severing a much deeper connection, one that he didn’t know could be severed with a demon’s knives.

Every agonizing second of thinking someone had taken them, that they were going to be unleashed on the world. And for as much as humans disappointed him at times, he knew they didn’t deserve that. Blinding loyalty to a Father who couldn’t bring himself to care about his own son. His own body would have brought war among them. He had grown so tired of war. 

The sound of waves and the sharpness of salt in the air. The flicker of flames at his back, familiar and horrific. The final release, the nearly audible pop of a connection detaching, a connection he didn’t know he still had after all these millennia. 

The wings offered a chance at redemption, a way to make himself whole again, and he burned them until the ashes mixed with sand.

At some point he had wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her to him tightly. He breathed her in, her warm skin soft against his face.

One of her hands still stroked his back while the other shifted upward, running her fingers through the hair above his neck, scratching, lightly pulling.

Her hands finally stilled, applying firm pressure. He ran his nose along her shoulder, up her neck, breathing her in. He felt her shiver under his hands, and he tugged her tighter to him as he reached her ear. 

Maze had warned her about this. 

Not warned so much as encouraged. The love of sex they shared wasn’t a love of orgasms, bodies pressed together. There was no love in Hell, she explained. She couldn’t even tell you what it felt like. This was all they had, this shadow of love, the ghost of compassion and caring. 

It explained a lot. Lucifer controlled desire because it was the burned husk of love. 

No wonder he was so starved for affection, for touch, regardless of the fact that his own bed was very rarely cold.

“Stay,” he whispered, his lips brushing against her ear. 

She shut her eyes. She may not be affected by whatever charms he had, but she was still human.

“Please,” he said, bringing a hand to the middle of her back. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” she reminded him. He drew his head back, resting his forehead on hers. 

They shared a breath.

Her fingers tightened in his hair. She was an adult. She could handle this. Her body certainly wanted her to, heat pooling in her center.

He wasn’t moving to kiss her, she realized. He was giving her control over what happened next.

She brought her hands to his face, tracing the jawline with her thumbs. She could feel him smile, but it wasn’t sardonic or hungry or cold. Just a small smile, fading as quickly as it appeared.

“What is it you desire, Lucifer Morningstar?” she asked, his lips impossibly close to hers.

“You,” he breathed, and heat shot further downward.

She shook her head gently, her forehead never leaving his.

“Only you,” his voice thick, the hand on her back bunching her shirt between his fingers.

She waited, then shook her head again, nearly imperceptibly.

She could feel his eyebrows furrowing, thinking. She trailed her fingers down his neck, lightly across his chest, not pushing him away. She felt it rise and fall, and pressed her fingertips lightly against his heart. It beat against her fiercely.

She waited.

The grip on her shirt loosened.

“Love,” he admitted, his voice barely audible. 

She brought her hands back to his face and closed the gap between them.


	3. History

He had never kissed someone like this before. 

It was gentle, undemanding, and asked for nothing more. 

He could taste the desire, the dark sweetness of it on her breath. He pulled it into his body like smoke, and she willingly gave him more.

But there was something else there, too, pouring over the desire, mixing with it. It was warm, amber and honeyed, yielding, insistent. 

He pulled away from her, looking into her eyes. The blue stared back at him like a cloudless sky, curious.

His head was swimming. He licked at the aftertaste on his bottom lip. 

Her eyes blinked a few times and dropped his gaze before sliding away, standing. He shook his head at the action, stunned. 

“You should get some rest,” she held her hands on his shoulders, gently pushing him backward. He laid back, adjusting to lay his head on the pillow, and grabbed her hand as it slid down his arm. 

“I’m not going anywhere. Just getting some water.”

He pulled a knee closer to his chest and let her hand go.

 

He was asleep before she returned. 

Chloe returned from the bathroom with the glass, setting it on the side table, studying her partner. His face was relaxed, breathing even. The lines on his face were softened, making him look younger. Though she had no idea how old he was supposed to be. 

She tugged the sheet up to his waist and sat on the edge, her hand next to his. She was surprised at the turn of events, but it faded quickly. He was still sick, and reaching out for the most familiar thing – sex – for comfort, but he didn’t push himself onto her. Perhaps he sensed her hesitation. 

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. How could this be the same man as the stories? He frightened suspects, used some mojo to pull desires out of them – that was weird, but not alien. Cops used different techniques to the same end. He’d been shot protecting her. Shot by her. Bled for her. Protected her. Drove her mad with innuendo and immaturity.

It was a lie. What others said about him. She began to understand the intensity of his horror at the stories. She’d be angry too, to have lies and rumors told about her. And he’d been dealing with that forever.

It made sense that he’d take over the persona for himself.

She eased herself to lay down next to him. She wanted to reach out, touch him again, but feared she might wake him.

He stirred at her movement and she didn’t have to worry about touching him, because he reached forward and pulled her to him. She smiled, draping an arm over his waist, placing a hand flat on his back.

She allowed a few long moments to pass, sure he had fallen back asleep. 

“Did it hurt?” she whispered, trailing her fingers over the smooth skin of his back. She wasn’t sure what she meant, but the question fell from her unbidden.

He hummed in response. “Which part?” he asked, shifting his face to brush his nose against hers.

“Sorry,” she mumbled. “Thinking out loud. Go to sleep.”

Her finger tips brushed the bottoms of his scars. 

“All of it,” he whispered. She stilled her hand. “My Father’s refusal to grant me the free will he gave to you lot so easily. The betrayal of my brothers and sisters.” He inhaled, and she willed him to stop. She could feel him tensing. “The Fall. The absence of grace. I still hear the souls, screaming.”

She opened her eyes, shifting back to look into his face.

“When I severed the wings, I cut off the last connection I had to Heaven.” He opened his eyes, but did not meet hers. “But when they burned, it felt like I was falling again. The link wasn’t just cleaved off like the before. It evaporated.”

She took in a steadying breath. “But also your connection to Hell?”

“No.” He closed his eyes. “That I carry with me.”

“But you burned them… so they couldn’t be used against you,” she said, understanding.

“Please,” he whispered, pulling her back to him. “Don’t.”

She nodded against his cheek, running a hand over his back. He relaxed again, and though Chloe wasn’t tired, she found herself drifting off, held in his unwavering embrace. 

 

Lucifer awoke first, the sun low on the horizon, casting a deep orange glow about the living room, the light echoing off the black of the piano. They lay in shadow. Chloe’s hair trailed behind her, dipping into the crease between pillows. She had not moved in however long they lay, except to shift her knee up and cover his own over the sheet protectively.

He ran his hand over her hair, tracing it back to its end. Enough time had passed that his bender had left his system. He grimaced at the memories. He had made a complete arse of himself.

Oh well. Nothing new there.

“Wha’ time is it?” Chloe mumbled against his skin. 

“’Round six, I imagine.”

“At night?”

He nodded. She exhaled. It tickled his neck.

He pulled her closer, resting his chin on the top of her head. He couldn’t believe he had told her – well. Everything. The fear of vulnerability started crawling up his spine like a spider, cold and calculating. She muttered something against his chest, and he relaxed his hold. 

“Don’t make it weird,” she repeated. 

He huffed. “Weird?”

She nuzzled closer to his chest. “Stay here. It’s okay.”

The coldness began to melt under her warmth.

“You frightened me,” she confessed.

“Haven’t you noticed? That’s what I do.”

She shook her head. “Not that. You were destructive.”

“I am Destruction,” he said, flatly. “Destroyer of Worlds. The Venom of God.”

She pulled away, looking him in the face. “Don’t do that. You aren’t like that.”

His dark eyes held her gaze. “The stories aren’t all lies, detective.”

She resisted a shiver at the weight of his response. “I don’t care about that. The past is in the past. We can’t control what happens to us.”

He let his head fall back onto the pillow. “I assure you. I very much controlled what happened.”

Chloe pulled herself, sitting. “Yes. And you paid for your actions. The only thing you can do now is move forward. Going backwards is not good, Lucifer. For anyone.”

Lucifer propped himself up on his elbows, sighing. “I’m sorry. I had intention of frightening you. It was the last thing I ever wanted, in fact.”

“Good. Don’t do it again.”

He laughed sadly. “Not a promise I can make, unfortunately.”

Her figure was outlined by the deep golden light behind her, and Lucifer remembered the amber taste she left with him. Everyone’s desire tasted slightly differently, some darker than others, syrupy or thin, varying shades of colors not on this plane. He recognized it in the detective, but not the other taste, the other sensation. It was like the sun on his lips – but not hot. Touched by fire but not burning. 

He was in her shadow, his light skin pale against the dark sheets, a moon in a starless night. His lips parted as he ran a hand across the sheets, reaching hers. 

He trailed a finger up her forearm, admiring the freckles and the sun-kissed skin in the fading light. Her hair cascaded over her shoulder, and he sat further upright, brushing it back, fascinated with how it fell down in soft waves.

“For you, I’ll try,” he promised, his hand trailing up her now exposed collarbone, reaching up to rest his hand on the back of her neck. He swallowed, suddenly unsure if his actions were wanted. She was still, searching his face. “Are you sure you’re alright?” 

“I was going to ask you the same thing.”

“I’m not the one whose whole world was just turned on its head,” he countered.

She smiled, radiant, and placed her hand over his. “You sure about that?”

A smile crept across his features. “I’ve never been less sure of anything.”

She leaned into his touch, and he brought his lips to hers. He tasted that warmth again. He pressed into her and she into him, searching, deepening. Her breath hitched and he moaned into her mouth, shifting to pull her closer. 

His hands eased underneath her shirt, flat against her waist, her back, hungry. She lifted herself into his lap, straddling him over the sheet. Her kiss was intoxicating, the mixture of sensations new and he wanted nothing more than to crawl inside the feeling it gave him: buoyant, like air. 

Like he was invincible.

He gripped her waist and flipped her over, covering her body with his. She gasped and he plunged his face into her neck, kissing, leaving small bites while she shoved down the sheet between them, raising her knees to pull him closer.

Nothing existed outside of this. Her hand in his hair, her breath in his ear, her legs as they held him close, the heat between her thighs. 


	4. Light

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> moved a bit of ch. 4 to the end of ch. 3 to make the lengths make sense... and fixed the fact that Chloe wasn't wearing pants before (oops).   
> Enjoy ;)

The bed was a dark oasis under the flaming light.

The longer they kissed, the heavier the warmth became, overshadowing the wispy desire he was so used to pulling. He met her eyes to check, and she sat up, smoothly removing her shirt. The sensation of her skin, her nipples tight under her thin bra, told him everything he needed to know of her desire.

“You taste differently,” he answered her unasked question. 

“What a charmer,” she teased, using her feet to pull down his pajama pants. He moaned at the sudden freedom, dropping his head to her chest. 

He snuck a hand beneath her back and undid her bra, sliding it off and capturing an eager nipple in his mouth. She arched her back at the sensation, sending her hips into his. 

Reluctantly, he moved his mouth to her collarbone, kissing his way back to her mouth while she grinded up into him, holding his shoulders.

“You taste like,” he trailed off, deepening the kiss, moving against her. He didn’t want to pull away to finish the thought. He slid a broad hand over her breasts, down her stomach and under her pants, palming her through her panties. She panted into his mouth as he caressed her, her hands moving over his shoulders, into his hair.

He smiled into her mouth and helped her remove her jeans, tugging the underwear to the side, slipping a finger over her smoothness, pressing through into the warmth beneath.

He wondered if she tasted differently there, too.

Only one way to find out, he thought eagerly, tearing her panties down her legs, drawing a gasp from her.

He slipped one finger into her, then two, his thumb rubbing gentle circles just above as he kissed his way down. She kept her fingers in his hair and shifted, opening her legs to him. 

The room darkened around them while he pulled new sounds from her, gripping her thighs when his name fell from her lips. The feeling wasn’t as honey-colored as her mouth, more rose than amber, and tinged with the desire he was so fond of drawing out. 

One hand left his hair and she held it to her forehead, arching her back off the bed, her legs shaking. He gazed up to her distraught state, enraptured by her beauty. 

“Lucifer,” she gasped, “please.” 

He slowed the pace of his fingers and tongue, drawing it out.

His name fell from her lips like a prayer, quivering around his fingers. He groaned at the sensation, and her muscles spasmed inside her, arching her back off the bed.

He slowed and stilled his fingers, kissing her thighs, watching her taunt stomach rise and fall until the breathing slowed, and he kissed his way back to her chest, her neck. 

“I can’t believe you’re still wearing these,” she complained, pushing at his boxers. He tugged them down and she felt him fully against her, eager but patient.

She lifted a knee and flipped them over easily, and lowered himself on him without preamble. He filled her completely, deliciously stretching her around him. She bent at the waist to kiss him, the movement causing them both to gasp.

He ran his hands up her thighs, running his fingers along the sides of her waist, looking into her face. She closed her eyes and tilted her head back, shifting experimentally, pulsing.

She met his eyes and he pulled himself upright, seating himself fully inside her. The movements were small but intense as they kissed, slowly, languidly. She felt herself adjusting to his girth, relaxing. 

“What do I taste like?” she asked, hovering her lips over his. 

He smiled, catching her lips in a soft kiss, pushing up into her. Every word he came up with wasn’t quite right. He groaned, shaking his head.

She deepened the kiss and pushed his shoulders back until he fell back onto the pillow, picking up her pace.

Lucifer felt himself growing close in her warmth. He brought her hands down, holding them by his head, her hair falling to frame their faces.

He breathed into her, pushing further, searching. She hovered her lips over his, feeling him pulsing with need inside her. She kept her hands by his head while his moved to her waist, gripping her tightly. 

“Lucifer,” she gasped, her orgasm rushing to meet her unexpectedly. She gripped him with her thighs and he came with her, his thumbs probably leaving bruises along her hipbones.

Slowly he loosened his grip, recovering, the two smiling at one another, laughing as she pulled herself off to lay in the crook of his arm.

Lucifer trailed a finger down her forearm on his chest, staring up at the ceiling, thinking.

He turned his face, resting it against the top of her forehead. “Like sunlight,” he finally answered. She was liquid at his side, resting blissful and safe. “Warmth and amber light, golden and flaming, like light.”

He could feel her smile against his chest. “Guess we make a good team, then,” she said, lifting her head to meet his questioning eyes. “Mr. Morningstar.”

He huffed out a laugh, kissing her forehead before she replaced her head on his chest, listening to his heart. 

He adjusted on his back, the scars pushing into the bed, and pulled the sheet up over them. Chloe drifted off while the room around them slipped into darkness, the city lights sliding easily across the floor. He shut his eyes, breathing her in. 

Lucifer sensed her grace radiating from her, covering them both protectively.

His Father could keep the ashes.


End file.
